


The Bluff

by byebands



Category: American Assassin (2017)
Genre: Assassins, CIA agents - Freeform, Deception, F/M, Fighting, I mean how could you not want that?? it's mitch c'mon, Lies, Missions, Oral - male and female, SO MUCH SARCASM, Sarcasm, Smut, Some other stuff will update tags eventually, Some smut sometimes, Treachery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 20:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebands/pseuds/byebands
Summary: **!!This is a reupload of The Bluff with (Y/N) as I had originally intended!!**Mitch Rapp is a highly-trained CIA operative. And a huge pain in the organization's ass. As a member of the elite (and unknown) Orion Team, Mitch causes quite the headache for CIA Assistant Director, Irene Kennedy and his trainer Stan Hurley. The two have decided things must change, and Mitch must be calmed down. With the help of Reader, they hope they have things figured out.orMitch Rapp is a little shit, and everyone is trying to wrangle him.
Relationships: Mitch Rapp/Original Female Character(s), Mitch Rapp/Reader, Mitch Rapp/You
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, y'all.   
> As the summary says this is a reupload of The Bluff. I have been posting this story on Tumblr for a long time and the entire time it was on there it was featuring Reader (or (Y/N) if you will). When I brought it over here I created the character of Olivia for AO3. Which is fine, I love her. But I also liked the original way that this was written. So, I'm uploading it as it was for my own peace of mind! 
> 
> Thank you!

The smell of bitter coffee was prominent in the small office mixing with the subtler scent of whatever air freshener hung in the corner above the door. Stan thought, distantly, that it may perhaps be vanilla. Then again, that could be the smell of the creamer that Irene had generously poured into her cup turning the color of the coffee from tar to mud. She raised the cup for a drink as Stan looked at his watch. 

_ 12:14 PM  _

“Are we ever going to get this meeting started?” Stan questioned Irene, setting his own cup down on the edge of her desk. “I’ve been sitting in here for ten fuckin’ minutes. I’ve got places to be, Irene. People to see, things to do. I can’t sit in here all day with my thumb up my ass.”

Licking her lips to get the taste of (the still awful) coffee off of them, Irene lifted her eyes to look at the clock on the wall behind Stan Hurley. She gave a small smirk, keeping mum. 

“Oh for heaven's sake,” Stan huffed, pushing to stand from his seat. 

Irene narrowed her eyes at him, “sit Stan.” Her tone was flat but demanding. Stan sat.

Returning her attention to the clock, Irene smiled. 

_ 12:15 PM _

“The meeting was scheduled for 12:15. You arrived early, and therefore I had no obligation to speak to you. Now, I do.”

Stan got visibly annoyed, pursing his lips into a thin line. He leaned his back against the chair, crossing his left knee over his right. “What is this meeting for, Irene? My previous statement still stands. I still have things to do and people to see.” 

Irene picked a file up from her desk, holding it out to Stan as she sipped from her cup.    
Stan read the name on the top of the folder and rolled his eyes, trying to keep from groaning audibly. “Why is every meeting we have about him?”

Irene shifted her position in her chair to be more comfortable, holding her mug with two hands. “You know why, Stan.”

Taking a deep breath, Stan began thumbing through the folder, huffing a bit. “I know all of this shit.” He closed it, dropping it to Irene’s desk with a dull thud. “What did he do now that warrants me dragging my ass all of the way down here to drink shitty coffee with you?” Stan picked his cup up, taking a swallow of the liquid. 

Irene set her cup down and leaned forward, crossing her hands in front of her, resting her forearms against her desk. “He is a risk, Stan. And we fe-”

Stan cut her off with a curt laugh. “Are you about to tell /me/ that this kid is a risk, Irene? I have been saying that since day. Fucking. One.” Stan jabbed his finger against the folder for emphasis. “I knew he was a risk, and I told you not to take him in. Told you not to give him to me. It is not my fault you did the opposite.” Stan crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’re about to say I need to crack down on him harder, save your breath. I’m doing my best with that sonovabitch, who if you couldn’t guess, doesn’t listen to more than a tenth of what I say.”

Irene took a deep breath, shaking her head. “If you would have let me finish I would have said ‘and we feel it is necessary to bring in reinforcements to help you’.”

Stan nearly dropped his mouth in shock at her. “I don’t need reinforcements, Irene. What I need is to get Mitch Rapp out of my fucking hair. I don’t have that much left!” Stan gestured to his head with his right hand, resting the elbow of his left on the arm of the chair. “This little asshole has single handedly raised my blood pressure to the point where I need pills. Can you believe that? Pills, Irene. Like the kind given to Grandad’s at the nursing home.” 

Irene bit on her lips to keep from snickering at him. “Aren’t you a Grandad, Stan?” 

He pointed the index finger of his right hand at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re pushing me Irene.” 

Irene unfolded and then refolded her hands together. “Stan, we’re sending in a handler. For fear of Mitch actually killing you from aggravation, we think you need someone else on your team.”

“I can handle him myself,” Stan said bitterly.

“You just told me you need him out of your hair, and that he’s giving you high blood pressure.” Irene reminded Stan. 

“I say those things out of frustration. Every time I have to get into a monkey suit and come down here to talk to you about that little prick I harbor a bit more resentment for him. That, however, does not mean I am done trying with him. He is my own personal vendetta. I do not want you sending in one of your uppity, sniveling fresh-out-of-the-womb Bureau babies to try and keep track of that kid. Just, give me a fucking higher-powered taser. Perhaps an actual cattle prod to deal with him. He’ll get his ass in check.”

Irene raised her hand to her forehead, rubbing it with the pads of her first three fingers. “Stan, you’re not cattle prodding Mitch into submission.”

“Absolutely not, I’m going to cattle-prod him until he shits his pants. And then he won’t continue making mistakes. Like how you have to rub a dog’s nose in it’s own piss so it stops going in the house.”

Irene’s eyes widened in shock. “Stan! You’re not going to do that.”

Irene swore she saw disappointment flash in Stan’s eyes. She had to take in a deep breath for a count of five seconds, releasing it for three before she could speak. “Stan, electrocuting him will likely make his behavior worse.”

Stan shrugged, “so? I would enjoy it.”

“The whole point -” Irene had to catch herself, her voice had risen. “The whole point of this conversation is for us to, together, decide the best course of action to curb Mitch’s wayward behavior. Not make it worse and give you some sadistic pleasure.”

“Please don’t make it seem like I would get off on torturing the kid. Because, while true, it’s uncomfortable.” Stan sighed heavily. “You’ve decided you’re bringing in a Bureau baby on your own, Irene. How is that us coming up with the best course of action “together”?”

Irene rolled her eyes. “Stop calling them ‘Bureau babies’ please, Stan?”

Stan nearly shook his head no but stopped himself. “What would you prefer? CIA Cunts? I like that one too.”

Irene flared her nostrils in anger, taking a deeper breath. “Stan, we’re bringing in a handler. But I have chosen to allow you to help me decide what these handlers duties are.”

“Staying the fuck away, how’s that sound?” 

“We have two really good candidates for this position, Stan. One is a newly recruited trainee, similar to Mitch when he first started here. He’s a little timid, but I think he’d work decently.” Irene picked up a file and held it out to Stan, who promptly tossed it back onto her desk. “The other is a second year field agent. Started early, graduated top of the class, followed commands.” Irene picked up the final file from her desk and offered it to Stan. He read the name at the top of the folder, narrowing his eyes dangerously. “They’re a she?” He asked, opening the file. He thumbed through it for a second before setting it down on his lap. “She’s pretty. She’ll be trouble though, Irene. You know how Mitch is when it comes to women.” 

Irene sighed, “which is why I’m leaning towards her.” 

Stan took a moment of silence, holding his hands together against his lips in a mock prayer position. “Why don’t we assign someone else to him too? Just really drain the agency's pocketbooks?” 

Irene sighed, “I think two will be enough.” She sipped her coffee before raising an eyebrow. “But maybe two directly assigned to him wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve ever come up with Stan.”

Stan rolled his eyes, shaking his head a bit. “It wasn’t a real idea, Irene. I was being what you’d call ‘a smartass’.”

Irene was going to say something but caught herself.

“So, how do you plan on using this chick?” Stan asked, indicating the folder in his lap.

“That’s why you’re here Stan,” Irene said. She resumed her comfortable, leaned back position in her chair. 

Two hours of brainstorming and logistics later, Stan and Irene had formed their plan. They had talked all of their options over, some causing Stan to curse in frustration. Others making Irene groan in annoyance. When they’d narrowed down their course of action, they made sure it was the best one. The one that would help Mitch the most.

They both sure as hell hoped so. And, though neither would admit it, they were both a little worried. There was a lot of room for error. 

“Would you go refill our coffees?” Irene asked, holding her cup out to Stan while tapping at her keyboard with her other hand. 

“I’m not your errand boy. Ask your assistant to do it again. She looked eager to please.” Stan went to pick his cup up, realizing his was empty as well. He huffed, pushing up from the chair he felt like he was growing a part of. “I’ll be back.” He snatched Irene’s cup from her outstretched hand, holding it by the handle in the same hand as his own cup. He pulled the door open and nearly walked into the woman with her fist raised to knock. 

“Oh,” Stan said a little startled. “Did you invite her up, Irene?” 

Irene nodded and Stan moved out of the way letting the woman in. She gave him a small smile before taking a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Irene’s desk. She crossed her legs, and rest her hands on her knee. “Hello, Ms. Kennedy.” She said, smiling politer to Irene than she had to Stan.

Stan had set the mugs on the desk of Irene’s assistant and returned to her office, shutting the door behind him. “You were fast.” Irene said, giving her attention to the new addition to her and Stan’s meeting. “I just sent the message to have you be sent up, what, forty seconds ago?” 

The new addition gave a shrug, “I was already up here ma’am. You said you figured you’d want to see me around 2:15, perhaps 2:30. It’s 2:20 -” she looked down at her watch. “2:21, actually, so. I thought I’d head up. I’m sorry if I’m early.” 

Stan snorted a laugh, “if she told you 2:15 you’re late. If she told you 2:30 well, don’t expect her to talk to you until then. She likes to shove it down your throat that you’ve got to follow her orders, so she’ll sit in silence for ten fuckin’ minutes to piss you off.”

Irene let out a deep breath, “watch the way you talk Stan.” She turned her attention to the woman, smiling sweetly. “Thank you for being prompt, (Y/N). Good to see you.”

(Y/N) gave Irene a gentle nod, gripping her knee a bit. 

“You can relax, (Y/N). I have not called you up here on anything terrible. You don’t have to look so rigid.” She glanced at Stan. “Don’t make a remark.” 

(Y/N) relaxed back against the chair, loosening the grip on her knee. “Why may I ask, am I here then, ma’am?” 

Irene smiled, “we have an assignment for you, (Y/N). You’ve proven yourself more than apt in the field, and during your internship, during college your leaders all commended you highly. We feel that you would be the most fitting for this - role if you will.”   
Stan rolled his eyes at Irene calling the assignment a role but felt it nearly appropriate. “This is going to make her such a good actress, I’ll nominate her for a fucking academy award, Irene. Since this is a ‘role’.” 

(Y/N) gave the both of them a confused look, uncrossing her legs to recross them again this time opposite. “What do you mean I’ll have to be a good actress Mr.-?” 

“Stan.”   
“Mr. Stan?” (Y/N) asked, furrowing her brows.    
“No, my last name is Hurley but you’re to call me Stan. Thought that was obvious, are we sure she’s as smart as you say, Irene?” 

Irene gave Stan an exhausted look. “(Y/N), we’re assigning you as a handler - of sorts.” Irene began, leaning forward to pick up Mitch’s file. “Here’s your charge,” Irene held the file out to (Y/N), who took it immediately. 

She opened it and began reading the front page, her eyes stopping on the picture of the attractive agent before hurrying over the information provided. 

**_Name: Mitch Rapp_ **

**_Age: 23 Years_ **

**_D.O.B: 10 . 26 . 1994 - Charlotte, North Carolina_ **

**_Height: 5’10_ **

**_Weight: 180 LBS_ **

**_Education: Degree in international business, Syracuse University._ **

**_Languages: Arabic, French, German, Italian, Persian._ **

**_Alias: (redacted)_ **

**_Lead: Stan Hurley_ **

**_Training: Weapons, Marksmanship, Hand-To-Hand Combat, Explosives._ **

**_Department: (redacted)_ **

**_Operations: (redacted)_ **

**_Place of Residence: (redacted)_ **

**_Handler: (no known)_ **

**_Level Of Clearance: (redacted)_ **

(Y/N) looked up at Irene, sighing a bit. “I’m going to be watching after someone my own age?” She closed the file, resting it against her leg. 

Irene shook her head, “not exactly.” She cleared her throat. “You’re going to be... Handling him. You’re going to be in charge of making sure he doesn’t get himself into any more… let us just call it trouble.” 

“So I’m going to be made to babysit him? If he’s so highly trained why am I necessary? I don’t feel like someone like him, a troublemaker would like someone holding his hand in the field.” 

Stan laughed, “not exactly either. You’re not going in the field with him, (Y/N). And you won’t be holding his hand and walking him along.”

“What will I be doing?” (Y/N) asked, opening the file again to look over the rest of the pages.

“Well,” Stan started, a smarmy grin stretching across his thin lips.


	2. Chapter One: The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan, Irene and Olivia arrive to Paris to begin their “mission” of sorts. Olivia is completely shocked to find out what that entails, and mischief occurs.

Stan held the door to the hotel room open for Irene and (Y/N), his other hand clutched tightly around the handle of his suitcase. The two women nodded their thanks as they entered the room, dropping their own bags onto the floor. The door shut loudly behind them, and Stan threw the lock in place. “Welcome to Paris,” Stan called after setting his suitcase down next to theirs. 

(Y/N) gave a soft smile, taking a seat on the edge of the farthest mattress. Irene took a seat on the other, and Stan begrudgingly pulled a chair away from the small table in the corner of the room, moving it in front of the two beds before taking a seat. 

“So,” (Y/N) spoke up, knotting her hands in her lap. “Are the two of you ready to tell me what we’re doing in Paris?” 

Irene nodded, “you’re here to meet your assignment (Y/N).” Irene crossed her leg over the other, resting her hands on her knee. “You know you’re to be a handler, of sorts. Not exactly the conventional type, but a handler. And you know that your assignment is… difficult. Would that be a good word, Stan?” 

“I’d choose ‘pain-in-the-fucking-ass’, but sure. Use difficult.” Stan said with a smile.

Irene took a deep breath. (Y/N) could tell that Stan and Irene should not be spending as much time together as they were. “Since your assignment is  _ difficult _ , we know conventional methods will be useless. So, we’ve brought you to Paris. Where he will be on a fake assignment that Stan and I have created.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “What am I supposed to do? Come in and be his partner or something?” 

Stan shook his head, chuckling a bit. “Not exactly.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “You’re actually going to be performing some sort of.. act. A little, technically.” Stan shrugged his shoulders a little. 

“An act?” (Y/N) asked for clarification, her brows knitting together. “What do you mean, an act?”

“Well, a performance. Think of this like. I don’t know - how should she think of this, Irene?” Stan leaned back against his chair, mimicking the way he’d sat the first time (Y/N) had met him. 

“Like you’ve said, Stan. A performance. (Y/N), you’re going to be in charge of getting to Mitch. We want you developing a relationship with him, getting close to him, starting to keep him … level?”

“Level?” Stan repeated, looking confused. “We don’t need him level, Irene. We need him knocked under the ground and finally fucking sane.”

“Stan,” Irene sighed. (Y/N) could see the exhaustion written on her features. “Would you please dial back on your profanity?” 

Stan stared at her blankly for a moment before beginning to mutter a string of curses underneath his breath, making an annoyed face, looking down at his hands.

“As I was saying. We need you to help us keep him level. He’s here -“ Irene raised her hand above her head, moving it back and forth a little to prove where Mitch ‘was’. “And with your help we’re hoping that we can get him here.” Irene lowered her hand to the middle of her stomach. 

Stan scoffed at Irene’s hand placement. “There? Irene, are you out of your mind? That’s still too much. We need that kid six feet under, which I’m sure he’ll manage on his own eventually. However, I’d like it sooner than later. And since you won’t let me kill him, I guess we’ll have to settle for you doing it, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) widened her eyes a bit. “I thought I was to act as a makeshift handler? Not kill this man.”

Irene nodded, “you are. Ignore Stan. He’s old, holds grudges, and probably forgot to take his heart medicine today. He’s fired up when he doesn’t take those.”

Stan leaned forward in his chair, face hard and ready to give Irene a verbal lashing for her comments. She halted him, however, when she began speaking again. “You’re to gain Mitch’s trust, (Y/N). Stan and I have decided that the best option for you, as his handler, is to get close to him. We, however, do not feel like it will be beneficial in any way for him to know of you as an agent. We want him blind to that fact. Want him as out of the loop about what we are planning of him as possible.”   
“So,” (Y/N) breathed. “What is it exactly that expect of me?”   
“Well, for starters you’ve got to get the least trustworthy sonovabitch I’ve ever met to trust you. Piece of cake.” Stan shrugged like he didn’t really care what happened but looked forward to the shitshow playing out in front of him. (Y/N) almost wanted to be like him, seemingly uncaring in all aspects of life. Distantly, however, she suspected he cared more than he let on. 

(Y/N) nodded her head slowly, pushing her lips together in a pout. “That sounds easy enough. Get an untrusting ‘sonovabitch’ to trust me. Got it. What else?”

Irene sighed, she was sure that by the end of her time with Stan either herself or (Y/N) would sound like a truck driver stuck in traffic. Cursing every other word. 

“You’re also going to need to get close to him, as I’ve said.”

“How close?” (Y/N) asked, picking at her cuticle. She caught herself and stopped, knotting her fingers together. 

Stan smirked, clearing his throat. “Well, sweetheart. Without risking Irene punching me for being ‘too crass’, you two will probably get close enough for him to know if you’ve got carpet or hardwood floors if you know what I mean. And that won’t even be you doing it for the mission. Probably. Mitch is a pretty bastard. Irene, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” (Y/N) asked quietly, taken aback by Stan’s comment. 

Stan sighed, and Irene gave him a warning look. “You’ve got to get so close to him, (Y/N), he’ll end up inside of you. You control a man's dick, you control him.”

Irene gasped in shock, leaning forward to smack Stan across the mouth. Her movement was quicker than either Stan or (Y/N) thought she was capable of. “Say somethin’ like that again, and it’ll be my fist Stan.” 

Stan, still in shock over being smacked, rubbed his cheek gently. “Director, I don’t think it’s appropriate to smack your agent.” 

Irene gave him an icy glare. “Stanley, if you were my agent I’d have your ass canned worse than sardines.” She took a deep breath. “You’re making my head pound.” 

(Y/N), having recovered from the abrupt smack that wasn’t even delivered to her but nearly felt, grasped what they were discussing. “I’m not going to sleep with him.” She declared, more to herself than to the others in the room. 

Stan snorted a laugh. “That’s a fucking lie. You haven’t met him yet. Hell, even ol’ cobweb crotch Irene here wanted him at first.” 

_ Thwack. _

Irene’s fist connected with Stan’s jaw blindingly fast, causing his head to thrash to the other side. “You ever talk about my crotch again, Hurley, and you’ll lose your teeth. You got me?” 

Stan nodded, though she could hear his low chuckle. “Back to the subject at hand, and not the subject of our agents sleeping together.”

“Though, you admit that you’re sure it will happen.” 

“STAN!” Irene shouted in warning. He held his hands up in mock surrender. 

“I think we could use a moment. Let me go call my other agent, he’s in route I would hope. Stanley, don’t do or say anything stupid or inappropriate.” 

Irene pushed up from the bed she was sat on and walked away from the two of them, entering the room beside theirs through the adjoining door. 

“She can put on a show and lie all she wants, she enjoyed my comments.” Stan mused, rubbing his jaw soothingly. “Anyway, (Y/N). As I was saying. You’re gonna have to get  _ real _ close to Rapp. He’s not been vulnerable to anyone since that shit went down however long ago, and we want you to be that person he lets his guard down with.”

“And you think that by fucking him, I’ll accomplish that?” 

Stan shrugged, “probably. Besides, like I definitely said earlier. You’ll want to anyway. Didn’t you see his picture in his file?” 

(Y/N) nodded, “yes. I did, but-” 

Stan waved his hand, not wanting to hear the rest of her sentence. “Doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that it’ll be something that will happen eventually. Not even a possibility, I guarantee it. And when it happens, if I hear about it, I’ll contemplate killing either of you. Just a warning.”

Stan took a breath and stood from his chair, walking over to the small fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“Aside from getting him to trust you and screw you, you’re gonna have to get him to listen to you. That’s important. That stupid sonovabitch doesn’t listen to a single Goddamn person, you’ve gotta change that, or so help me God he’s gonna find himself skinned.”

(Y/N) sighed heavily, “why do you have such contempt for him?” 

Stan cracked the seal on the water bottle he’d grabbed and guzzled down half of it. “Cause I think of him as my son, (Y/N). And I don’t want his ass to get killed in the field.”

“I’m not going to get to be with him in the field though.” She pointed out, standing to get herself a water bottle. “How will I be able to prevent him from getting killed?”

Stan took a moment to answer her, slowly screwing the cap back onto his water. “You’re gonna give him a reason to want to come home.”

Irene returned shortly, shoving her phone into the pocket of her dark grey pants. “He is on his way here from the airport.” Irene declared, returning to her spot on the bed.

“Who?” (Y/N) asked, assuming it was going to be Mitch.   
“The other agent. He’s crucial to you getting to Mitch.”

(Y/N) furrowed her brows together. “Why don’t you just introduce me to him yourself?”

Stan laughed, shaking his head at her. “You can’t just be introduced to this kid, (Y/N). He’ll say ‘I don’t need a fucking handler’ in his annoying tone, and walk out in a huff.”

“So, like you would?” (Y/N) asked for clarification. Stan glared. 

“Sort of,” Stan agreed. 

Irene took a deep breath and then launched into explaining what would need to occur. “Stan called Mitch when we landed and told him there was a lead on an international, mid-level arms dealer here in Paris. Mitch was assigned to getting to the arms dealer and finding out what he knows. Currently, Mitch is somewhere over Europe headed here to join us. Or, rather, to find us. In a manner of speaking. The other agent, the one I just phoned, he’s going to be posing as the arms dealer.”

She sighed, “where do I come in then? Am I supposed to be a housekeeper or something? Should I stumble upon Mitch?” 

Stan shook his head, “not exactly.”   
“Then what?” She leaned forward a bit looking rather confused. 

“You’re going to be a victim of sorts…” Irene trailed off. 

“How will I b-” her sentence was cut off by Stan’s fist connecting with her left temple, sending her crashing to the bed. 

Irene jumped up from the bed, grabbing Stan’s arm. “Stan! What happened to tell her the plan first, and allow her to consent to get beaten?” 

Stan sighed, looking at his fist and then at Irene. “She wasn’t going to agree. This way, she’s already been hit. She’ll have less of a reason to refuse.”

“Or more of one!” Irene pointed at (Y/N) who was clutching the side of her head. 

“What the fuck?” She screamed at Stan, standing up from the bed. 

Stan cleared his throat. “Well, Irene did warn you that you’re playing the victim of sorts. This is the ‘of sorts’. Now, can we please finish this? I don’t  _ want _ to do this to you. I really don’t, but it has to be done.”

“NO!” She screamed again, pushing on him with the balls of both of her palms. She balled her fists at her sides, ready to strike him when Irene spoke up.   
“(Y/N),” she rest her hands calmly on her thighs. “You’ve got to do this. You’re going to be the victim, and that entails looking like one. Stan is going to beat you,  _ within reason _ , and you’re going to be rescued. Hopefully, if Mitch does what we want. He doesn’t know our plan, so maybe he’ll cooperate.”

She stared at the two of them wide-eyed, her temple throbbing. “Get fucked.” 

She walked past the two of them, reaching down for her bag. “Told you she was gonna hate this.” Stan pointed out, cracking his knuckles behind (Y/N).

“(Y/N), please. This will be over soon, it will look worse than it will be.”

She shook her head, dragging her bag to the door. She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard Stan whisper “ _ bureau baby”  _ under his breath. She narrowed her eyes in anger, whirling around to look at him. 

“What?” She hissed, dropping the handle of her suitcase. 

“You heard me,” Stan shrugged. “You’re nothing but a fuckin’ bureau baby.”

She balled her fists again, returning to Stan and Irene. “Fine, you shriveled old crone. I’ll take your fucking beating,” she snarled. “But if you break my fucking nose I’ll get full retribution for every single blow you land. ‘You got me’?” She asked, mimicking Irene. 

Stan nodded, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It will be my pleasure.” He drew his right hand back and launched if forward, connecting with her jaw.

(Y/N) sat in the bathroom on the edge of the tub, holding a cloth to her bleeding lip. Her head was pounding, and her ribs hurt every time she took in a breath, but other than that she was faring better than she had anticipated. Stan had only assaulted her for a short time, and she was thankful he hadn’t broken anything. Though, if you asked her, she was pissed he hadn’t because she wanted to break his nose back. 

“(Y/N),” Stan said from the door of the bathroom. She looked up at him and noticed a small knife in his hands. Her heart sped up in her chest.   
“What?” She said, dropping the cloth she held to the floor, standing up on weak knees. “What more could you possibly do?”

Stan looked from her to the knife and then back to her. “May I stab you?” He asked, looking a little sad to ask. 

She shook her head in astonishment. “No? No, you can’t stab me, Hurley? Why would anyone allow you to do that?” 

Stan shrugged, “cause if you don’t agree I’ll have to do it by force. And that’ll be even worse for you.” 

She scoffed, “or! You could just realize you don’t need to stab me at all.” 

Stan shook his head at her and took a step into the bathroom. “I do, (Y/N).” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It will be in your shoulder area. Right here.” He touched the spot he planned to stab her with the tip of the knife. “It will be less painful than you’d think it is. Trust me, I’ve been stabbed there more times than I care to count. It’s fine.” 

Stan's attempts to be reassuring were falling short. She took a step back away from Stan. “No.” She repeated shaking her head. Her hand came up to rub the spot on her shoulder, thinking for a moment. “Wait,” she looked up at Stan, keeping her hand on her shoulder. “You can stab me, for whatever sick fucking purpose you have. If you let me punch you, dead on in the face.”

Stan took a deep breath before nodding in agreement, bracing himself for the impact of her fist. He figured getting punched in the face twice in one night wasn’t a bad average. 

(Y/N) inhaled and, as she was exhaling, sailed her fist towards Stan's face, colliding with his nose in a loud thud.    
Stan recoiled from her, clutching his nose in his hand. “Fuck,” He huffed, pulling his hand away to check for blood. “Yeah, definitely broken.” Stan pinched his nose firmly between his first finger and thumb, shaking his head a little. “You’re fucked up, kid.” He grunted. 

(Y/N) gave a smug smile before pulling her shirt to the side, closing her eyes tightly. “Do it, get it over with now. Before I change my mi-” her voice was taken when she felt the blade plunge into the fleshy part of her chest below her shoulder. Stan retracted the blade quickly, tossing it into the sink. 

She let out a string of curses as she snatched the hand towel off of the hook on the wall, pressing it firmly against her bleeding shoulder. “You fucking cocksucker,” (Y/N) snarled at Stan. She pressed her hand harder against her shoulder. “I’ve never been stabbed before, and you bet your balls I never wanna be again.”

Stan shook his head, “sorry kid. I’m done now. You’re free to go.” 

“Go where?” she asked. 

Stan pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “Irene’s got some medicine for you since you let me stab you and all.” 

She nodded her head and walked past Stan to the main room, seeing Irene on the phone with someone. She contemplated interrupting Irene’s phone call to ask her for the medicine that Stan had mentioned, seeing two little white pills spotted with red dots sitting on a napkin on the table. 

She grabbed her water from earlier, washing the two pills down with it. 

Irene got off of the phone as she was swallowing, looking from (Y/N) to the napkin to her again. “Oh, I see you found the pills. Wonderful. How are you feeling?” Irene asked, sounding genuinely concerned. She felt a little put off by that, seeing as Irene was probably the one who suggested that Stan beat her up in the first place.

“I’m fine. I just want to know what the rest of this stupid little act is going to be. Am I just going to wander into Mitch’s path looking like this? That will surely get him to trust me, I’m sure. He won’t think I’m fucking deranged or anything.”

Irene shook her head, tapping on the glass screen of her cell phone. “No. You’re not just going to stumble into his path. You’re going to be placed in the room where he will be confronting the fake arms dealer. You’re going to be a hostage, so to speak. Start thinking of the story you’re going to tell Mitch now, so you’ve got it completely figured out by the time you have to tell it. Would you?” 

She nodded, taking a seat in the chair that Stan had been sitting in earlier. 

There was a knock at the door which caught Irene and (Y/N)’s attention. Irene was about to make for the door when she heard Stan shout ‘ _ I’ve got it _ ’ from the bathroom. 

A moment later the two women were joined by Stan and a man who was taller and scruffier looking, with short brown hair that looked almost military. He had a hard glare to his features. She could tell this was to be the arms dealer. 

“(Y/N), meet your capture. International arms dealer Anton Checovich.”    
The man raised his hand in a half-assed wave to (Y/N). She nodded her head in response, regretting the movement due to the pulse of pain that wrapped around her head. 

“What’s your real name, agent?” She asked, still holding the hand towel tightly against her chest. 

“That isn’t important for you to know,” Irene interjected before the agent could respond. “Only concern yourself with your part of the act. Okay? You should probably lie down on one of the beds, you’re looking faint.” 

She went to nod but caught herself, laying down on the bed closest to her. The three others walked away from her to have a meeting in the hall near the bathroom.

(Y/N) felt her eyelids getting heavy.


	3. Chapter Two: The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first stage of the plan goes into affect. Olivia and the arms dealer are both introduced to Mitch Rapp for the first time, and things get a little interesting. Olivia also realizes that perhaps things are a bit different than they would originally seem.

(Y/N) woke up with a groan, her eyes feeling heavy and her mouth dry as a bone. She blinked slowly a few times, her eyes adjusting to the light pouring in from the wall of windows facing the sun. She winced looking directly at the sun on accident, turning her head to the other side. She had a pounding headache that was throbbing with every small movement. 

“Sonovabitch,” she whispered to herself. She realized she was on a bed, figuring she had passed out after Stan had beaten and stabbed her. She looked around trying to see if Stan and Irene were still in the room. 

Quickly, she came to notice she wasn’t in the same room she had fallen asleep in. Her heart picked up speed, pounding in her chest with fright. “Hello?” She called out, attempting to sit up, her body sore and her shoulder sending shooting pain up her arm in response. She looked at her shoulder and then her hands. They were tied together with a necktie to the headboard above her, her muscles sore and tired from being in the same position for what she assumed was hours. 

“What the fuck is going on?” She grumbled, her mind working slowly. “What the fuck was in those pills?” She spoke aloud. She could tell her speech was slower than normal. She blinked slowly again, her eyes feeling just as heavy as they had when she’d fallen asleep. How long had she been out?

The other agent from earlier walked into the room then, holding a cup of water. “Hello, (Y/N).” He said in a gruff voice. 

“Untie me,” she said limply tugging at the necktie around her wrist. 

“Can’t,” the agent said.

_ What was his name again?  _ She thought to herself, racking her brain. She was sure she’d been told before. Aaron? Alex? Andrew?

“I’m Anton,” the gruff-voiced agent said. “Arms dealer, remember?” 

She nodded.

“Drink up,” Anton said, holding the cup to her lips. She parted them and started taking long swallows of the offered water. She made grunting noises when she had her fill, her mouth feeling less dry than it had when she woke up. The water had tasted tangy, and her tongue felt a little numb. 

“What was that?” She asked. 

“Water,” Anton replied, setting the cup down beside her. “Stan and Irene had me change you.” He indicated her body which was now dressed in a dark blue, button up shirt and a pair of underwear. “Where’s my bra?” She asked, glaring at him.

“It was discarded for you,” Anton answered matter-of-factly. 

She went to kick him but felt like her limbs had been tied down to weights. Instead, she settled for giving him a fierce glare. “What the fuck do you mean you discarded it for me, Anton?” Her voice sounded softer than she wanted, but she knew it got the point across. 

“It does not matter. Just concern yourself with not struggling too much, you don’t want to aggravate your wound. Do you?”

She shook her head. She was feeling too tired to continue to talk. Anton filled the space where her voice should have been.

“Irene and Stan have instructed me on how to get out of here. Unfortunately, I have been told, I am to leave you here. Apparently, the other agent, the one whom we are tricking, is supposed to find you in this condition. I am sure you are aware of that. Correct?” 

She half shrugged.

“He should be here shortly,” Anton continued, offering her some more water. She took a few more sips before he replaced it on the nightstand. “Will you be able to follow through with this or should I call Stan and Irene and tell them that you aren’t cut out for your assignment?”

She took a deep breath and clenched her jaw. It took her a second to speak, her head was feeling foggier than earlier. “I’ll be fine.” She said confidently. 

Anton nodded, looking like he didn’t believe her. “Sure, (Y/N). Sure.” He patted her knee which sent an uncomfortable shiver up her spine. She was quick to move it away from his hand. 

“Don’t touch me,” She ordered. Her head fell back against the pillow again and her eyes threatened to close. “Don’t touch me.” She repeated, her voice weak. 

She couldn’t make out his response as she slipped back under. 

The sound of a fight outside of the bedroom woke (Y/N) up, her eyes snapping open. She lifted her head from the pillow, groaning at the abrupt movement. She felt like this was familiar, sans the altercation, she could hear in the other room. Her throat was drier than her mouth felt, and speaking came hard but she managed to call out a weak “ _ who’s there _ ?” 

Grunting and thudding were all she could hear in response. She was sure she heard a glass of some sort break and a man howl in pain. She strained her neck trying to lean her head more to be able to hear more of the fight. “Hello?” She hoarsely called out. 

The sound of wood splintering answered her, and she tugged at the necktie around her wrists in an attempt to get free. The movement made her whine in pain, her shoulder giving a scream of pain in response. She took a moment to remember that she’d been stabbed, her stomach doing a flip. 

“HELLO!” She called louder, wriggling her hands and wrists against the necktie. “Someone help me!” She called in a near sob. “Please.”    
A voice shouted something and she jumped at the sound of a gunshot. Her heart dropped at the sound, her mind wondering if Anton was alright. She heard the sound of glass breaking again, and the sound of two men grunt in pain before footsteps retreated from the room. Her heart was pounding faster than she thought possible, and she felt absolutely helpless. Lying half-naked and tied to the bed, she knew if something went wrong she would be screwed. Metaphorically.

A minute or two passed without a noise when suddenly the door to the bedroom smashed open with a bang. 

A shaggy-haired brunette walked in, gun raised and poised on her. Her breath caught in her throat, her mind taking a second to process the sight in front of her. The man's lip was bloody and he had a bruise already forming on his nose.

His eyes scanned over her, realizing that she wasn’t an immediate threat. He checked the room, making sure it was clear before he lowered his gun. 

The man walked over to her, looking over her again. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“(Y/N),” she responded. She dragged her eyes over the man’s face, recognizing him as the man from the file. “You’re gorgeous.” She found herself saying in a slow voice. She shook her head and groaned in pain. She was tired still, but that didn’t stop her head from pounding. 

His eyebrows furrowed, “and you’re obviously drugged.”

She found herself nodding her head at his statement, “I’m agreeing.” 

His face pinched up in a confused sort of smile and he exhaled what was probably his gruff version of a chuckle, “yeah. Usually, that’s what you’re doing when you’re nodding. Let me untie you. Are you hurt, aside from your obvious facial beating?”

She nodded again, her head still rattling with pain. “Yes,” she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as if she needed to think of what had happened to her. The man couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was an alluring move. “My shoulder. It’s killing me.” She acknowledged. “Think I was stabbed, maybe? Probably. Or the fire is just from this position. Dunno.”

The man sighed, carefully pulling the neck of the button-down she wore to the side to be able to see her shoulder better. He saw the inflamed wound, which had luckily stopped bleeding. “I need to get you out of here.” 

“Wait!” She tried to shriek when he went to untie her hands. Her voice however out as a dull whine instead. “What’s your name first?” She asked, her eyes hooded. 

“Irrelevant.” He responded.

She huffed, “that’s a stupid name. Your parents are awful people.” She leaned her head back to watch him untie her hands but found herself passing out instead.

When he’d been instructed to fly to Paris for a mission involving an arms dealer, Mitch had low hopes of anything going well. Normally, arms dealers always had more artillery than they knew how to use, and they weren’t particularly good shots. However, that did not mean they couldn’t cause one hell of a mess and a wicked headache for Mitch the next day. 

He’d found the brute sitting in the living area of the hotel room, smoking a cigar and reading what appeared to be a nude magazine. Mitch was less than impressed as he held his weapon poised on the man in the chair opposite him. Mitch was about to make his first inquiry when the heavy ashtray that the man was using sailed past him, thudding hard against the wall behind Mitch. 

He automatically sprang into action, firing a shot past the man’s head to disorient him before stepping onto the coffee table between the two, using his right leg to roundhouse his foot against the man’s temple. The man grunted in pain but recovered quickly, snatching Mitch’s foot before it could connect with him again, tugging it back to cause Mitch to fall with a thud against the coffee table. 

Mitch rolled himself off of the table, landing on his stomach. He quickly righted himself, raising his hands to block his face, the other man’s fist hitting against Mitch’s forearm. With a quick movement, Mitch launched himself at the other man, grabbing him by the throat, colliding his knee with the man’s stomach knocking the wind out of him instantaneously. 

The two stumbled back, Mitch’s hand seizing tighter around the brute’s neck. The man was struggling to breathe as Mitch cut off his airway. Mitch’s free fist connected with the man’s right cheek, causing a cut to form from the abrupt skin-on-skin contact. 

The man brought his hands up and then down hard on Mitch’s forearm, dislodging Mitch’s hand from around his throat. The man took a few stumbling steps backward before regaining himself, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring at the brunette in front of him. He charged at him, knocking both of them onto the floor, the full weight of him landing on top of Mitch. He let out a grunt, his knee coming up between the man’s legs to get him to lessen his weight on him. Mitch used the man’s shoulders to push him off, quickly scrambling to his feet. Mitch raised his foot quickly, hitting the man square in the ribs with his foot as if he were punting a soccer ball down the field. The man let out a loud groan. Mitch delivered another kick, this one knocking the man onto his back. 

“Where the hell are the guns?” Mitch asked as he loomed over the man who had now wrapped his arms around his chest in a self hug. The man didn’t respond, simply glaring up at Mitch with hard eyes.   
Mitch gave another kick, lifting his foot to slam it down against the man’s stomach. The man grunted, grabbing Mitch’s foot with faster reflexes than Mitch was anticipating. Mitch jumped instantly, not giving the man a chance to knock Mitch over, and drove the unheld foot into the man’s pelvis.

The man released Mitch’s foot and he returned to both feet, giving another kick to the man’s side. “Do I have to ask again?” Mitch questioned, his head snapping to the side when he thought, for a fleeting second, that he heard someone else's voice. The man took this opportunity, while Mitch’s attention was elsewhere for the briefest second, to get to his feet, his chest aching. When Mitch turned his head back round to look at the man, he was met with the man’s fist instead, his jaw instantly aching. 

Mitch went to return the blow but was apparently dazed, for his nose was struck next, pain shooting up his head and blooming between his eyes. He shook his head and quickly regained himself, returning the man’s blow with one of his own, this one holding more weight behind it than the ones he had delivered before. He could feel the man’s nose break beneath his fist when it landed. 

The man’s head snapped back, and Mitch took that opportunity to force his fist against the man's throat, causing him to fall to his knees clutching it. Mitch reached beside him and grabbed the lamp, going to smash it against the man’s head but faltering. He dropped it to the floor where it shattered.    
This time, Mitch was sure he’d heard another voice. He turned the whole of his upper body to face the double doors behind him, where he’d figured the noise had come from, his eyes narrowed. 

“ _ Somebody help me, please!”  _ Mitch heard a voice shout from behind the doors. He turned the rest of the way, his jaw clenching. He went to take a step towards the double doors when he heard a door close behind him. The man was gone. 

“Fuck me,” Mitch shouted into the empty room. He wanted to go running after him, but his curiosity for what was behind the double doors got the best of him. He found his gun where it had been knocked out of his hands and picked it up, checking the chamber. He fired a shot through the couch in the off chance the man was hiding behind it. 

He took a deep breath, checked that his nose wasn’t bleeding, and made his way to the double doors. He lifted his foot, kicking it hard between the handles, and watched the doors burst open. His eyes immediately landed on a woman tied to the bed wearing a button-down shirt, and black socks. 

He pursed his lips and made quick work of checking the rest of the room, deciding that there wasn’t another threat. He lowered his gun, stuffing it into the back of his jeans to keep it close in case this was a lure. “What’s your name?” Mitch asked taking a few cautious steps towards the bed. 

“(Y/N).” She said in a voice that Mitch wasn’t expecting. He watched her drag her eyes over his face, and he thought for a second that she might smile. “You’re gorgeous.” She told him, speaking too slow for him to believe it was how she normally spoke. 

Mitch nearly rolled his eyes, his hands moving to rest on his hips. “And you’re obviously drugged,” he looked over at the cup of water on the nightstand, deciding it best to get her a new one to make sure she wasn’t dehydrated. 

She was nodding her head slowly and for too long, “I’m agreeing.” She said to him, and did what he figured was an attempt to shrug her shoulders which he wasn’t at all convinced she even knew she was doing. Mitch gave her a confused smile, like the kind you’d give to a child when they were being weird but endearing, and huffed out a sort of laugh. “Yeah,” he mused. “Usually that’s what you’re doing when you’re nodding.”    
He stepped nearer the bed, “let me untie you. Are you hurt, aside from your obvious facial beating?” 

He watched her nod again and he narrowed his eyes, trying to decide what could possibly be another affliction she had. “Yes,” she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and Mitch wanted to stare at her mouth but she spoke again. “My shoulder is killing me.” 

She took few breaths before she continued, “think I was stabbed, maybe? Probably. Or the fire is just from this position. Dunno.” She attempted to move her hands, but Mitch could tell that it proved too much effort for her drugged body. He took a deep breath in, sighing it out before carefully pulling the neck of her button down to the side. He tried hard not to touch her shoulder, not wanting to feel her skin. He was greeted by an inflamed wound, which by the looks of it, had stopped bleeding. 

Mitch shook his head, “I need to get you out of here.” He leaned forward to start untying her hands when she attempted to shriek at him, her voice just sounding hoarse. 

“Wait,” she fluttered her lashes at him. Mitch would have thought it was an attempt at being flirty, had she not looked like she could pass out at any second. “What’s your name, first?” Her eyes were hooded, she looked on the verge of sleep. 

He stifled a smirk, “irrelevant.”

She huffed, managing to open her eyes more to look at him, “that’s a stupid name. Your parents are awful people.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and got to work untying her hands, throwing the rope to the floor afterward. He reached down and touched her face gently with the tips of his fingers, turning her head a bit. 

“Great, dead weight.” He took a deep breath and hooked his arm underneath her knees, lifting her legs. His other arm went underneath her shoulder blades and he carefully lifted her from the bed, carrying her out of the room towards the door. He leaned his body down and managed to get the handle turned and the door opened, checking that the coast was clear before walking out into the hotel hallway with her. 

She stirred a bit in his arms, and he was afraid for a second that she would come to and freak out. Instead, she just cuddled her arms to her chest, seemingly making herself more comfortable in his arms. He used the tip of his shoe to push the down button on the elevator, nearly losing his balance. It took ages to arrive, and he was thankful he wasn’t as weak has he had once been.

Stepping into the elevator, she came to a little, looking up at him with half-opened eyes. “Where am I?” 

“Safe,” Mitch responded, regretting it immediately. 

  
  



End file.
